Was it the added stress
Of having someone there?
Or having to wait whilst
Mum and sis popped out?
Or me, responding to
Whatever goading vibe was given off?
The three of us were stuck
In a car with nothing to do
The devil on my shoulder
Convinced me to mess around with you
I know I took your hat
It had you riled
I wouldn’t give it back
I was a stubborn child.
You asked, but I was having fun
You demanded, but the game was young
You began to threaten; your eyes got wild
I wouldn’t give it back
I was a stubborn child.
You turned, your face a mask of blazing hate
In confined space your whole self did inflate
Words no longer enough – too late, too late
I wouldn’t give it back
I was a stubborn child
Suddenly your hand lashed out
Grabbing – not sure what for
Landed, tangled in my necklace
Which I, in pre-teen vanity had worn
To try to make my sense of self
Not seem so battered and torn
Surely, to an outsider
A kid in a necklace must be the norm
But this new use
This vile new gist
You wound your fingers in – began to twist
Surprised, horrified
I held the hat away
Our friend sat frozen in the front seat
Didn’t know what to say
An ugly look seized you as you smiled
I would not give it back
I was a stubborn child
And so in stale mate
Your gargantuan will ‘gainst mine
Yet with my throat closing over
There wasn’t time
I couldn’t make my point
As the cords bit into my skin
I had to take a breath
I had to let you win
Daddy, couldn’t you see the tears
As your daughter choked for breath?
Couldn’t you see my fears
You hated me so much you’d bring me death?
Daddy, why did you take such pleasure
In showing me I was reviled?
I had to give it back
I was a broken child.

This is a photo of my parents. It features center stage on my refrigerator… The second poem was inspired by all of the photos being magnetically held to my fridge. The first one is fairly self explanatory. Z~

The View From Here

Today

My mother

sat by my side

as I drove past the school

I attended as a child.

The school yard

divided neatly in four,

was the same

and yet so different.

My vision skewed

by size and youth,It was far too expansive then.

I could never throw a ball

clear across

the cement playing field.

The stairs no longer

appear insurmountable.

Then I turn-

I see my mother.

This point of view

has somehow

worked in reverse.

No longer unassailable,

or larger than life,

Invulnerability

is not hers to pretend.

When did she become so small?

z~

Refrigerator DancersBlack and white glossies in spectator shoes and woolen coatsGive way to pursed lipped kisses in the Coupe, long legs posed like Betty.She’ll go with him in uniform—she, still one dimensional lacking hue. Little does he know, he’s a pinup too. He’s doing the icebox waltz.

The budding artist–offspring, not of Betty and her mate but the generation next.Daddy’s art work is long gone, committed to the memory of a sentimental storyteller.

Toothless school photos yield to the performing arts—drama and dance recitalsHolidays illustrated in detail, gifts and tables set with heirlooms from the icebox days. Commencement depicts another generation advancing in polaroid Until they too step aside, making room for the next refrigerator dancers. z~